Chapter Twenty-Eight
Happy pulled up in the limousine and got out as Thor, Steve, Bruce and Tony stood in the underground garage and watched.
Steve looked the white stretch limousine over. "So, we're taking the low key approach to this, I see."
"This is low key," Tony protested. "We could have gone with the pink stretch hummer."
"What's a hummer?" asked Steve.
Thor had his thoughts on the subject. "Mayhaps a mechanical beast which hums as you ride in it."
Tony gave him an impressed look. "It isn't, but now I really want the humming car thing. It sounds way cool."
"You can't," said Happy firmly, "because they don't exist."
Tony nodded thoughtfully. "A gap in the market, I see what you're saying, Happy. I should invent one."
Happy rolled his eyes. "No one would buy one, boss."
"I would," protested Tony.
"As would I," agreed Thor happily. "T'would be a magical way to travel."
Bruce shook his head. "We haven't even left yet and I want to go home," he said in annoyance.
Tony held up a warning finger to him. "No raining on the parade, B. Pull up those big boy panties and let's go and have some fun."
"I don't think we agree on the definition of fun, Tony," said Bruce dryly.
"You say that now," said Tony confidently, "but wait until you see what my definition is. I promise you, it rocks." He waved them towards the limo. "In, in, those strippers won't shove dollar bills into their own g-strings."
"I'm not going to a strip joint," said Steve, even as Tony carolled him into the car.
"Either am I," agreed Bruce as he followed Steve in.
"I do not believe I know what this joint of strips is," said Thor even as Tony unceremoniously shoved him into the car as well.
"Trust me," he called into the limo at the ring of reluctant faces, "Tony Stark is taking you out on the town, and he knows how to party."
"Is Tony Stark going to be referring to himself in the third party for the entire night?" Bruce wanted to know. "Because if he is, Bruce Banner is going to have something to say about that."
He waved away Bruce's concern. "It's all going to be golden, don't worry." Tony shut the limo door and shook his head at Happy. "Why are they making having fun so much work?" he complained.
"Natural survival instinct?" Happy suggested.
Tony ignored the dig. "Are we all set?"
"Your reservations have been made, I've got a full tank of gas, the limo bar is fully stocked and the lawyers are on speed dial," Happy listed.
Tony patted his arm and grinned. "All the ingredients for a perfect night."
"I just hope the others aren't as much work as you are when they're having fun."
"Do you know what your problem is, Happy?"
"I've got a couple of thoughts on the subject."
"You worry too much."
"I've got some thoughts on that subject as well."
Tony waved away his concerns. "Tonight is going to be fantastic. I promise you, Hap, absolutely nothing is going to go wrong."
Happy grimaced. "I wonder if people said that just before they boarded the Titanic?"
"We're not going to hit an iceberg tonight," proclaimed Tony confidently.
Happy arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"I'm almost seventy-two percent confident of that fact," Tony back-tracked a little. "I like those odds."
"You say only say that because it's unlikely you'll be the one bailing out the cabin," said Happy dryly.
"What's that?" asked Tony brightly, pretending he didn't hear. "You're eager to get on the road?" His grin widened. "Me too, me too, my friend." Tony opened the door of the limo and climbed in with the others. "Gentlemen, start your engines," he said excitedly.
Happy slammed the door shut behind them and sighed heavily. "And they were never heard of again," he muttered to himself as he headed around to the driver's seat to drive all of them to their fate.
oooOOOOooo
Natasha lined up the punching bag in front of her and then threw a deadly punch squarely at the middle. She ducked and weaved about as the heavy bag jerked and swung with each of her following blows. Normally Natasha loved to work on the bag, punching out her frustrations, body kicking out any stresses of the day, but tonight she wasn't getting the usual fix from the rush of exercise endorphins. There was too much on her mind. Ever since she'd taken up the spy business, she'd always known the future was uncertain. Death could find you in a blink of an eye if you made the wrong move at the wrong time. Natasha had always known that, but when that doctor had told her the news about her brain tumour, the reality of life being short had been driven home in the most frightening of ways. If Natasha had been given a choice, she'd rather have gone out in the field, using her skill and training against whatever was trying to take her life. Whether she lived or died would have been in her hands.
This cancer was something else.
All control was taken away from her and now Natasha had to contemplate putting her life in the hands of faceless doctors or to slowly waste away. Both options felt unbearable to Natasha, and on top of that Clint was trying to barrel his way into her life once more. The thought of being vulnerable around someone brought a sense of panic welling up inside of her. It wasn't that she didn't trust Clint, it was more that she didn't trust herself. If she lost her hard edge then she could well lose her effectiveness in her job and Natasha didn't want that. Letting something further develop between her and Clint meant opening a door she had no idea what lay behind it. She threw a hard punch, frustration overwhelming her as her thoughts chased themselves around in her head and there seemed to be no resolution to her concerns.
"What did that bag ever do to you?" Clint's teasing question came from behind her as he walked into the gym and then around, so he could grab the punching bag and hold it steady for her.
"I was working out," said Natasha shortly, unable to think about anything other than Clint's promise of an unexpected kiss as soon as she saw him.
He gave a lop-sided smile. "That would have been my next guess."
"I thought you were going to do some practicing with your bow," Natasha noted, glad there was a punching bag between them. She knew how to use her sexuality when it came to a mission, but in real life, it was something she tried to bury. The way Clint was looking at her made her stomach tighten in nervous anticipation even as she chastised herself for being so weak. Natasha was determined not to let this get any more complicated than it already was.
Clint gave a short nod. "I was, but then I remembered I'm amazingly awesome at the whole bow and arrow thing, and thought I'd give it a miss."
"You got good at it by training," she said with a note of censure.
"And missing one day of it isn't going to be the end of me," he reasoned. "Besides, I thought was could go out, maybe get a drink or something?"
Natasha arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. "So, that's your plan, get me drunk and then try to get that kiss?"
Clint just smiled. "You won't be drunk when we kiss, I promise you."
"Drunk or unconscious," said Natasha sweetly, "those are your only two options."
He winked at her. "We'll see. So, you in?"
"No, I've got work to do."
Clint let go of the punching bag and walked around to stand in front of her and made a thoughtful face. "Anything to not have to think about things, I see."
"What does that mean?" she demanded to know.
"Us, your illness."
"I don't want to discuss either of those things," she said tightly.
Clint didn't seem to be listening. "Have you made a decision about that operation yet?"
Natasha eyes flicked around the empty gym, her lips tightening.
"No one is here," Clint informed her. "We're alone, Natasha. It's alright, you can talk."
"I don't want to talk," she said again.
"But you're thinking about what you should do, right?" he pushed her. "You haven't made a decision yet?" Clint eyed her closely. "Or have you?"
"You want me to have the operation." It wasn't a question.
"I do and I think it should be done as soon as possible."
Natasha's chin came up. "It won't be you who could end up a vegetable out of all this."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Clint countered. "It's still your best shot at living life on your terms."
"Except it won't be us living that life, it'll be me," said Natasha darkly.
"I've never known you to fail at anything you put your mind to," said Clint simply.
"This time it isn't in my hands," she noted tightly. "It's in someone else's."
Clint looked away briefly before fixing her with a frustrated look. "I know you've always worked alone or with people on your own terms, Natasha, but sometimes life doesn't work out that way. At some point you have to trust someone otherwise everything is going to come crashing down around you."
Natasha stared at him, not knowing if Clint was talking about her operation now or them. She suspected it was a bit of both. "I haven't made a decision," she said quietly. "I'll tell you when I do."
"The sooner you do it, the sooner you'll be on the road to recovery," he reasoned.
"I gave you an inch, Barton," she said in exasperation. "Why do you have to go for the mile as well?"
He smiled. "That's just the kind of guy I am, kiddo, you know that."
She shook her head at him. "It can get a little wearing."
"Unlike this stubborn, ice princess routine which is a complete and utter joy to behold," he sassed her right back. Clint's expression became serious as he stepped closer. "You know that whatever you decide, Natasha, I'm going to back your play. I don't want you to doubt that for a minute."
"But that isn't going to stop you from trying to sway me towards the operation in the meantime," Natasha noted dryly.
He shrugged unapologetically. "I am what I am."
Fury walked into the exercise without warning and Natasha instinctively stepped back away from Clint. He fixed his good eye on Clint. "I've got a job for you."
Clint looked at him expectantly.
"It appears the rest of the Avenger's have decided on a night out," Fury informed them.
"Okay," said Clint.
"One organised by Tony Stark."
"Oh," said Clint, his tone becoming more knowing, "okay."
"I need you to get them to call it a night."
Clint grimaced. "Really? Why me?"
"Why not you?" Fury shot back. He looked between the two of them. "Unless I'm interrupting something here?"
"You're not," said Natasha calmly.
"I just don't want to listen to Stark yapping at me," complained Clint. "He's not going to be happy."
Fury gave him a cool look. "It's not my job to make Tony Stark happy."
Clint considered his options. "I should take one of my knock out gas arrows and use that on him."
Fury's expression didn't change. "The plan here is to not draw attention to ourselves," he noted dourly. "I think walking into a New York club with bow and arrow might have the opposite effect, Agent Barton."
"Yeah, but you rarely have to pay a cover charge," he quipped.
"Get the rest of the team out and don't make a scene," Fury ordered him. "We don't need the negative publicity."
"I'm all about the stealth, sir."
"See that you are."
"Where are they?"
"Where do you think, the trendiest club in town."
"I'm not really up with the New York clubbing scene, sir, I'm going to need more information."
Natasha interjected. "You'll find them at the Carnaval des Lumières."
Fury nodded. "Yes."
Clint looked at her in surprise. "How did you know that?"
Natasha gave a wry smile. "Because it's Tony's kind of place and none of the others. He'll enjoy having that kind of advantage over them."
"Okay," said Clint slowly, "so what am I walking into here exactly?"
"Just don't drink anything while you're there and I'd recommend against wearing anything flammable," she recommended.
"And I've got a job for you too, Agent Romanoff," continued on Fury.
Natasha nodded, happy to have something to occupy her night. "Sir." Anything to stop her being alone with her thoughts.
A/N: I know, I know, not enough Pepperony – I'm working on it. . You rush the miracle worker and you get a lousy miracle. :P